I ask myself, "What is lacking?"
as vanity chokes the answer,
Forced to admit that I am perfect,
Perfect for myself and only in mine eyes.

I see now,
See clear as beautiful Narcissus.
While virtue pools around me,
I stare back into my limpid eyes.

A ripple tears across the surface,
Muddling what a moment ago was so clear.
Imperfection in the smallest of measures.
Oh how I hold that moment dear.